


i'll be home for christmas

by eg1701



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Bisexual Tom Wambsgans, Christmas, Established Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Internalized Biphobia, M/M, Mother-Son Relationship, minor homophobia, projecting? moi?, self deprecation, tom and his Issues, tom's parents are good people i have deemed it so, very loosely inspired by various christmas vacation scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26959267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eg1701/pseuds/eg1701
Summary: Tom brings Greg home for Christmas and has a small crisis about it.
Relationships: Greg Hirsch/Tom Wambsgans
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	i'll be home for christmas

**Author's Note:**

> hello i am once again projecting onto fictional characters and tom is the lucky winner who gets to deal with my every few month sexuality crisis! sorry to do it to ya man, but you're already going through it, a lil more won't hurt you

After DC, Tom honestly thought his mother would never speak to him again. He had embarrassed her-- that was obvious. But he had also embarrassed himself, and she was disappointed in him. Mostly for how he presented himself, but also for getting involved in the thing in the first place. 

And he didn’t blame her. Not at all. He wanted to. Wanted to argue that she was his mother, and he had tried his best in an impossible situation, but he couldn’t find it in his heart to blame her.

When he brought Greg to Christmas-- unannounced-- she had looked over him first, up and down, then looked at his father, as if to ask whether or not she was hallucinating. 

“Greg right?” she said, sticking out her hand. 

“Uh yes,” Greg jumped slightly at being addressed and shook her hand, “Hi.”

“Well come in you two,” she said, and Tom could not read her tone. It was her lawyer voice, the one she would use when he’d been in trouble as a kid, or when she had to talk to his teachers and didn’t want them to know who’s side she was on, “It’s cold out.”

They ducked inside, and Tom hugged both his parents. First his father, who clapped him on the back, asked him if they had a good flight. Then his mother, who he held onto for a second or two longer. If she noticed this, it wasn’t apparent.

His life was falling apart and he wanted his mother. Was that a bad thing?

“We didn’t know you were bringing someone,” she said, her tone light, when he finally let her go. She looked him over, frowning, “It’s nice that you did though.”

Of course she fucking knew he was falling apart. 

“There’s hot coffee,” his father said, “Why don’t you boys come inside?”

Greg looked at him nervously, but Tom only nodded. He should have probably either told his parents Greg was coming, or told Greg they didn’t know, but he had bought two tickets almost without thinking, the same afternoon his mother had invited him home for the holidays. Maybe she had assumed it would be Shiv. Maybe she thought he’d be alone. He had no fucking clue what he was doing.

In a slightly awkward silence, they trekked into the kitchen. He offered to help make the coffee, but his mother shooed him away, back to the table where his father and Greg were making small talk about the weather. 

“Hey,” he slid into the empty seat on Greg’s left, “Dad, this is Greg.”

“I heard,” his father smiled, and though the tone was a little condescending, Tom was pretty sure his father could hear the anxiety in his son’s tone, and was mostly humoring him, “Awfully tall isn’t he. It’s nice to meet you Greg.”

“You too Mr. Wambsgans.”

“Henry,” he smiled, “Mr. Wambsgans is my father.”

He loved using that line, Tom had heard it often. But Tom wasn’t relieved by it, like he wanted to be.

“Uh huh,” Tom frowned, and opened his mouth to say more, but his mother returned, bearing a tray of coffee, and he fell silent. 

“I wasn’t sure how you took yours Greg,” she said, “So I brought everything here.”

“Oh, thank you Mrs. Wambsgans,” Greg replied. Tom may have been nervous, but at least he ddin’t sound as fucking anxiety ridden as Greg did.

Maybe this was a mistake. 

“You can call me Eveyln,” she said, “There’s no need to be so formal.”

“Yes ma’am,” Greg replied. Tom would have argued that “ma’am” was, in fact, more formal, but for Greg it might have been as close to a first name as he was going to get, because he’d watched Greg speak to people in authority before, and Shiv had told him that he’d once called Caroline “your excellency” so really he would take ma’am.

“So, it was nice of you to come home with our Tom for the holidays,” she said, and Tom knew she was fishing for answers, “Of course we’ve got the room, so it’s not an issue.”

“I uh,” Tom picked up his coffee. His mother had the Christmas mugs out, the ones they used when he was a kid. Tom’s had Woodstock and Snoopy on it, and he held it without drinking for several moments, “I brought Greg for Christmas because Greg and I are, uh, together.”

“Together?” Henry asked, looking between the two of them in mild surprise, “Really?”

“Uh huh,” Tom said again. He’d never explicitly discussed this sort of thing with his parents, and maybe this wasn’t the best way. But at this point, he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing anyway, so might as well just lay it all on the line.

“What happened with Shiv?” Eveyln asked.

“It’s complicated,” Tom shot back, and she didn’t inquire further. Maybe she had seen it coming all along, but she had to realize a mistake had been made when she sent her son east to marry a nice rich girl, and all of the sudden-- to her at least-- he’s testifying in front of the senate about a major criminal investigation. 

Whenever he put himself in his mother’s shoes, he looked like a dickhead. 

“I see,” she said, sitting in the last open chair. A moment passed, “Tommy, you know it doesn’t matter. We just want you to be happy.”

Blindly, he felt for Greg’s hand under the table. After a second, he found it and Greg squeezed back. It wasn’t so much that he’d been worried about his parents disowning him and never speaking to him again. It was a _possibilty_ , sure, but if everything else hadn’t been enough, then it was unlikely. But they had no reason to have even suspected anything, and this had to come as a shock. Hell, it came to _Tom_ as a shock.

“Of course,” Henry smiled wide, “Of course that’s what we want.”

“And at least now we get you for Christmas,” Evelyn reasoned, blowing on her own coffee before sipping it, “Greg, tell us about yourself.”

“Mom, don’t examine him,” Tom muttered.

“Alright,” she laughed, “I’ll behave. Greg, your parents don’t mind us stealing you for Christmas?”

“Oh no,” Greg shook his head, “My mom doesn’t mind.”

“You were at the wedding,” Henry said suddenly, “That’s why you look familiar.”

“Can we _not_ talk about my wedding right now?” Tom asked. 

“Uh yeah,” Greg said, “I was there. I don’t think we ever got to talk though.” 

“Well it’s making Tom upset, so we’ll let it drop,” Evelyn said, and Tom felt a surge of affection for his mother, “It’s lovely to have you.”

“Thank you.”

***

“I know,” Tom held up a hand to stop Greg from speaking, “I should have told them.”

“It’s alright,” Greg said, even though Tom knew it wasn’t. He sat down on the bed, and after a moment, Greg sat down with him, “They’re nice.”

“Yeah. Fucking saints.”

“Does it feel weird? Telling them?”

“Uh huh,” Tom frowned, “It feels weird telling me too.”

Greg nodded, “I know.”

“I mean when I was a teenager, I knew. I mean I knew there was _something_ but it wasn’t even talked about. I didn’t know a single gay person until college. Bisexuality wasn’t even in my vocabulary, much less something I could be. I just thought it was the way things were for everyone.”

Greg made a thoughtful noise, “Yeah, like, heteronormativity is a bitch.”

“See?” Tom shook his head, “What does that even mean?”

“It’s like, we’re taught that we have to be straight, so anything else seems weird. Like if it’s  
never discussed with you, you don’t think it’s an option.”

“Oh.”

“Dude like, it’s alright to like, not figure shit out. Till later.”

“Don’t lecture me, this isn’t Intro to fucking Gender Studies Greg,” he sighed, “It’s hard for me still because like, I love you. You know that right?”

“Yeah.”

“And I’ve never loved a man before. Like this. Even when I was younger and had crushes, I’d blow it off. I know this is different for you.”

“That’s alright.”

Tom put his face in his hands, and felt Greg put an arm around his shoulders. 

“I uh, I love you too,” Greg said, when Tom didn’t speak, “And I know this is kinda of hard. For you. I know and like, I wish I had better shit to say.”

“I feel like an imposter a little bit,” Tom said, finding the words true as he said them, “I haven’t earned that label. Like I can’t be-”

Greg shook his head, “That’s not true. I mean, just dating women doesn’t mean you stopped being bisexual. You were. You’d still be even if we never got together.”

“When the fuck did you become so well spoken? You’re an idiot.”

“I just know about this,” Greg said.

“Some of my family,” Tom said slowly, “Will not like this.”

“Oh,” Greg replied.

“Eloquent.”

“Sorry.”

They were still and silent for several minutes. His mother had placed them in Tom’s old bedroom, though little of his childhood self remained there. That was probably for the best. He didn’t want Greg seeing old baseball trophies or teddy bears or school papers. He wanted Greg to see him as he was now, a relatively established adult, with a good job, not the dumb little kid with ugly glassses, braces, and the belief that he was going to be president one day. That was little kid shit. 

“I used to sleep in here,” he said, “You can’t even tell anymore.”

“Little Tom,” Greg laughed, “Do you think your mom would show me pictures if I asked her?”

“This feels like payback,” Tom replied, “You gonna steal one and blackmail me with it?”

“No, it’s not nice to kick someone when they’re down like this.”

“Oh thanks. But yes I do, so I’d politely ask that you don’t.”

“Fine,” Greg kissed him on the cheek, “I won’t.”

***

Greg got passed around to every new relative as “Tommy’s new partner” every time a distant cousin or family friend stopped by. Tom sort of hated it. Actually, he hated it alot, but it was significantly better than _boyfriend_ and at least the members of his family who might not have liked that so much could blow it off as platonic. But it didn’t stop him from frowning every time the words left his parents mouths.

Henry discovered-- though Tom wasn’t quite sure how-- that Greg’s father wasn’t around, and had assumed the role without being asked. It was so fucking familial and kind it made Tom want to puke. Henry and Greg were alike in that they would both tell you their entire life story if you gave them a chance. Greg talked when he was nervous, and Henry talked to fill the empty space. He shouldn’t have been surprised really that it happened.

“I like him,” Henry said, as he and Tom dragged boxes of Christmas lights out of the garage,  
“He’s funny.”

“Yeah,” Tom replied, wishing his father would talk about literally anything else.

“He doesn’t watch football though. I think we’re going to have to change that.”

Tom had a brief vision of his father and Greg sat in front of the TV with beers in hand, shouting at the touchdowns on screen. It was endearing in an impossible way, because he knew Greg would never be able to pay attention to a football game, but would pretend to if Henry asked. 

They finished dragging out decorations, and Tom took a moment to blow on his gloved hands. It was way too cold out to spend a long time putting things up, but his parents had waited for him to get there before decorating. The tree was still bare in the living room. He hadn’t expected it, and had been pleasantly surprised when his mother said they would do it as a family. 

“Did you think we wouldn't like him?” Henry asked, frowning at the ball of lights, “Every year I put these away neatly. I think little gremlins must come and undo my work.”

“Yes,” Tom said, “I thought you wouldn't like him because he’s a man.”

“Well I understand why you were worried. But like your mother said. We just want you to be happy. She’s been so worried about you. She knew something was wrong. I think if you’d said you were staying in New York for Christmas we’d have been at your doorstep.”

“Maybe.”

“You don’t want to talk about Shiv do you?”

Tom thought his father was asking out of his own curiosity, mixed slightly with some kind of paternal sense of duty. He didn’t blame a single person for being curious about his marriage. Wouldn’t he want to know? But he didn’t have the ability to explain it to them anyway. He was upset and embarrassed and mad all at the same time, but he knew if he tried to explain it, Shiv would come across as the bad guy, and he didn’t want that, because she wasn’t. Not really. He didn’t blame Shiv for the way she felt, or the things she wanted, and he was pretty sure his parents would. It was easier to dance around the subject.

“No,” Tom said, “I’ll do the lights, give them to me.”

Henry handed the ball over with a sigh. Tom thought maybe he’d been put up to the task by his wife, who would have thought Tom would share it with his father. 

But that was still not going to happen. 

***

The real family, grandparents and aunts and uncles and such, were set to come several days before Christmas. They had been warned, in a strongly worded phone call, that Tom brought someone new home and they were not to be rude to him. Tom was still scared out of his fucking mind about it, but he was going to be brave. 

He was going to be brave about this one thing for the first time in recent history.

Well, he was going to try at least. 

“I think it’ll be fine,” Greg said the night before. Tom had briefed him on his family tree, in an attempt to give them any upper hand they could get. 

(He couldn’t fucking believe Greg’s _Roy_ grandfather was easier to deal with than Tom’s normal family.)

“Maybe,” Tom mused, “Did anybody in your family have shit to say when you came out?”

“Not really,” Greg frowned, “I mean it was mostly just Mom and Grandpa. They didn’t care, you know? I don’t think my dad even knows, but that’s fine. I don’t care.”

“Fuck then. I was hoping you’d have better advice.”

“Are you like, actively worried about this?”

“I don’t fucking know.”

“That’s alright.”

Tom wished deeply, that Greg wouldn’t be so fucking accomedating to his crisis. Would bitch or something about it. He hated feeling like he was the one having the breakdown, putting a burden on happy fucking go lucky Greg. 

That couldn’t be a healthy way to think right?

“They were so happy for me when Shiv and I got together,” Tom said. He wasn’t sure where he was going, what the point of this information was, but he decided to see where it went. Greg perked up a bit, as if to show he was listening, “I don’t know. It’s not fucking 1935 and I made it to the big city. Fuck it Greg, I have no clue what I am doing.”

“I mean,” Greg frowned, “I think that’s probably fair given… everything.”

“Uh huh. You think we could fuck off to like, a Midwestern farm or something. Have you ever farmed?”

“Uh, no. But like, I’d be down probably.”

“I was mostly kidding dipshit. I don’t want to fuckig farm.”

“How are you?”

“How _am_ I? Are you joking?”

“Well, I like, hoped maybe you’d be working through stuff here. You’d be better.”

“You’re such a fucking dork. But I’ll live I think. The thing is that I don’t care what my family thinks of me. Think of us. But I also just, I don’t want to hear it.”

“Yeah no I think that’s like, pretty fair.”

***

Greg was given the honors of putting the star on top of the tree. It was, Evelyn claimed, because he was the tallest, but Tom was pretty sure it was so she could help him feel more involved in family traditions.

It made him feel disgustingly warm inside. 

***  
His grandmother didn’t speak to him. She arrived and kissed both his parents on the cheek, smiled at his younger cousins. It was as if he wasn’t even there. Embarrassing the family name on live TV, in front of the senate was one thing. Bringing home a man was another.

He sent a pleading look to his mother, who offered him a sad smile and nothing else. But the kitchen was full of guests who needed to be tended to. One of his nephews ran by. A quick glance showed Greg and Henry at the counter talking with Henry’s brother. Greg didn’t even look over. 

It was easy enough to slip outside, onto the back porch. It was too hot inside, in his stupid sweater, with the lights, and the people, and he wanted the coldness of the fresh air. 

He hoped it might help him feel something.

***  
He heard the back door slide open. A brief glance at his watch said it had only been about fifteen minutes or so. He had hoped for at least thirty, but it seemed unlikely. His mother would call him rude. But he was pretty sure he couldn’t be blamed for wanting a moment alone. 

“Uh hey,” Greg said. Objectively, Greg was one of the few on the list of people he didn’t mind seeing right now, “Your mom sent me to find you.”

“Figured. Hi. I’m found.”

“Is that your mom’s mom or dad’s mom?”

“It’s her mom,” he shook his head. Greg came over and stood against the bannister with him, “If looks could kill right?”

“Are you alright?”

“Would you stop fucking asking me that? I’m tired of being asked if I’m alright.”

“Sorry.”

It was beginning to snow again, little flakes, hardly more than rain really. Tom held out a hand and let them land on his palm. Greg watched him with the face of someone who was maybe witnessing a nervous breakdown. 

“She uh, she introduced herself to me. Asked if I was the one that turned you gay.”

“I wish you kept that lovely piece of information to yourself.”

“Sorry again.”

The silence fell. Tom stared straight ahead, watching the snow fall. He could just see the neighbor’s house through the trees. It was a different view than his Manhattan window could provide. But it was the view he’d grown up with. In the summer, they used to swim at the house up the street. In the fall, he imagined he and his father raking leaves while his mother made hot cider inside. 

Jesus, when was the last time he’d come home? 

“I uh,” Greg began, “I’m sorry that this happened to you.”

“She can actually go fuck herself,” Tom replied, practically snarling. Greg took a step back, maybe out of habit, like Tom might hit him or something. It made him hate himself just a little bit more, “Fuck. That anger wasn’t for you.”

“That’s alright. I uh, can take it.”

“But you didn’t do anything wrong. Come here,” Tom reached out a hand, tugged on Greg’s jacket to pull him forward, “I’m sorry.”

He pulled Greg in for a kiss, ran a hand through Greg’s hair gently-- just because he knew Greg liked when he did that. Tom leaned against him.

The thing about Greg was that he was a touchy feely person. He always went in for the hug, loved to stand close, to hold hands, to sleep practically on top of him. And at first Tom had been a little wary. But then he realized that he liked it. That Greg was showing him affection, and when Tom reciprocated the touch, he was showing love back.

“Dude, I’m like, freezing cold out here,” Greg muttered, “Do you want to go inside?”

_No._

“Sure.”

***

Christmas Eve seemed to arrive quickly. 

The house was constantly full, constantly loud. Several aunts spoke to him about how handsome they thought Greg was, his eldest nephew, a boy of almost twelve, discovered that Greg liked one of the same video games and that was a several hour discussion between the two of them. No one brought up Waystar, the senate, or anything of that nature. Instead they discussed the family’s football teams, and the upcoming New Year. 

It felt almost normal.

Most of the family had gone out, returned to hotels, or turned in early. Santa wouldn’t come if the kids weren’t asleep after all, and besides, he and his parents had always spent Christmas Eve together when he was little. His mother turned on the fireplace, and produced a bottle of wine. Greg drank half his glass and promptly fell asleep in Tom’s lap. It was sort of funny. 

“So?” Tom asked. He kept one hand on Greg’s shoulder, the other on his own wine glass, “What do you think?”

“Of Greg?” Evelyn frowned, “I like him. He’s very nice. Seems fairly intelligent. Much better than the last time I heard him speak I mean.”

Tom winced, “Yeah. Well, he was nervous.”

“Right,” she leaned over and patted him on the knee, “Henry, we like Greg don’t we?”

“We do,” Henry said earnestly. He finally finished fiddling with the radio, and the gentle classical Christmas music his father so enjoyed drifted into the room, “We liked Shiv, and we like Greg.”

“We want you to be happy Tommy,” Evenlyn shook her head, “But I can’t tell if you are or not.”

“I know. But I am. I think I am at least.” He frowned, and looked down at Greg, who had a habit of not only being able to fall asleep in uncomfortable places, but to sleep like the dead while doing so, “I don’t know. I think that maybe I was unhappy for so long that I got used to it and now I forgot how to be happy.”

His parents shared a look. It was one he knew well, the concerned parent look he had seen before and he just knew they could practically hear what the other was thinking. 

He had said too much. There were things he wanted to keep away from his parents, who were good, honest, hard working people, and didn’t need to be sucked into the one percenter drama filled fucking soap opera his life had become. 

“Where did it go wrong?” Evelyn frowned too, and Tom thought they looked alike when they frowned, “You and Shiv, I mean, you were good together I thought.”

“Yeah uh, we just- we wanted different things.” The last thing he was going to was discuss the idea of an open marriage with his parents, “And Greg and I were friends, and we got to talking, and like, I guess that Greg and I, our interests match up a little better.”

“That’s a very cynical way to look at love,” she said, “There’s a time and a place for professionalism.”

He looked to Henry who just nodded, “Your mother’s right. Love isn’t corporate.”

“You’re a good boy,” Evelyn said, “And you deserve to be happy.”

“Oh I don’t know about that,” Tom replied, even though most of his brain was telling him to abort and to shut the fuck up while he could, “I messed up. The cruises, and all of that. I really fucked it.”

“People make mistakes,” Henry shook his head, “That doesn’t mean you need to throw your entire life away. You’re a good person. We’re proud of you.”

“We are,” Evelyn nodded in agreement. She picked up her wine glass and glanced at the tree. It was twinkling in the dark, and Tom knew that tomorrow, the kids would descend on the presents, and the living room would be a sea of wrapping paper. Evelyn teased him about having to go out this close to Christmas to pick up a present for Greg, who in return sputtered that she absolutely didn’t need to get him anything.

“Too late,” Evelyn had replied and Greg had been thoroughly embarrassed about the entire thing, freaked out about getting Tom’s parents a present, until Tom had gently reminded him that they already had done so.

“I think he’s good for you,” she said, “He seems, I don’t know, particularly fond of you. I see him watching you from across the room, smiling. It’s sweet. Young love.”

“Grandma’s not happy,” he replied.

“Oh,” she waved her hand, “My mother’s never been happy about anything. I tried explaining it to her, but I don’t think she’d ever heard the term bisexual before. I tried Tommy, I did.”

“You really don’t care do you, about it?”

“About you?” She sighed, “I don’t know how many times you need to be reassured, but I’ll say it again. You can date whoever you want. I will admit, I didn’t expect it. You’d never expressed any interest in dating men before. I won’t say I wasn’t a little surprised, but it’s alright.”

“Yeah. Greg says it’s heteronormativity.”

“Your father and I are proud of you,” she stood up and came over to kiss his forehead, “However you identify. Your father and I are proud of you. We love you no matter what.”

“Yeah. Yeah I love you too.”

“Is that the word you would like to use? Bisexual? We won't tell anybody you don’t want us to of course.”

He forgot that although his mother was a terrifying lawyer, she did work with people for a living. She probably knew more about this than he did. But he still didn’t think he liked talking about this stuff with his parents. He liked keeping things private. 

“It feels weird,” Tom admitted, wondering if maybe one day it wouldn’t but right now it did. It was his own issues, he knew, but he didn’t know if he could fully call himself that, “But it makes sense.”

He hated talking about this anyway. It made him feel like a stupid teenager or something. But if he was going to keep Greg around-- and he wanted to-- he’d have to say it all eventually.

“If it makes you feel better, your father was in love with David Bowie.”

Henry laughed, and then covered his mouth, glancing at Greg, who was not woken up by the noise, “So were you Evie.”

“I’ve never denied it.” She abandoned her chair to squeeze into Henry’s, who shifted in his seat to accommodate his wife, “We like your new boy Tommy. Keep him around huh?”

“Thanks Mom.”

**Author's Note:**

> i made up almost all of the tom's parents personalities, but i like to think they are Good people who love their dumbass son and their dumbass son's dumbass boyfriend.


End file.
